‘Is there somewhere we can talk privately?’
‘The name of our mutual friend?’ he asked.
We were a stone’s throw from where my birth mother lived, in White Swan Yard. I wanted to be able to see Mr Barnard’s face as we talked. He would be well-versed at dissembling, but I would take that chance. ‘The White Swan?’
‘Mrs Shackleton, what is this about?’
Once I said her name, he could deny knowledge of
Deirdre, and march off into the night.
‘A certain person whom you spent time with in Leeds has gone missing. I’m hoping there might be something you can tell me that would help me find her. It could save a lot of trouble, and police involvement.’
He thought for a moment. ‘The first initial of her Christian name?’
‘D.’
‘I don’t believe I can help you.’
I was on the verge of losing him, and for all I knew I might have missed the last train and be stranded, as well as beginning to feel light-headed. ‘Look, Mr Barnard, I know this has come out of the blue but I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get here. I believe Deirdre found herself in a dire situation recently, and that shortly afterwards, her mother died. The police want to talk to her. If I don’t find her first, every inch of her life over the past months will be under the microscope. If I do find her, your name can be kept out of it.’
‘I see. But I don’t know where we can talk. My gang have already discovered the Swan.’
‘The railway station?’
‘Not exactly the spot I had in mind for my post-performance tipple, but lead on.’
We strolled the short distance to the railway station, where the buffet was closed. This was not my day. ‘The waiting room?’
He nodded.
We sat on a bench in a room deserted except for a man in a mac huddled in the far corner, smoking a pipe.
‘Do you know the lady you are seeking?’ he asked as we seated ourselves on the leather-covered benches.
‘Not personally. As my card says, I am a private investigator.’ I felt him tense. ‘But this is nothing to do with matrimonial matters. I simply want to find Mrs Fitzpatrick. Her family are concerned about her disappearance.’
‘I haven’t seen her. Nor have we been in touch. Really, Mrs Shackleton, you are looking in the wrong place. Do you think I have her packed in my trunk?’
‘Something happened. I can’t say what. She may have information that could help the police.’
He spoke cautiously, not denying, not confirming that they had spent the weekend together. ‘Is she in trouble?’
‘She may be. I thought she may have come to you.’
‘Well you were wrong. She has not.’
‘Look, I know you want to be with your friends in the pub, but is there anything that you can think of that might help me find her?’
‘What kind of trouble may she be in? Has her husband …? If someone has harmed her …’
‘I have no reason to believe she has come to harm.’
For the first time, it occurred to me that she could have come to harm. Not the self-harm that Mrs Sugden suggested, but from her husband, or her brother. What better way to cover a crime than to ask the police and an investigator to search for the victim?
‘I can’t help you. I liked Deirdre. We took to each other.’
‘Was there anything that happened while you were together, or anything she said that hinted that she might leave her husband, or where she would go, or anything that alarmed her?’
‘She wasn’t happy with her husband. There’s something
I could say, but I won’t. A gentleman doesn’t tell.’
But you will, I thought, if I don’t push you too hard. I waited.
‘We were on Leeds Bridge,’ he said carefully, ‘and someone took a photograph. That upset her.’
‘I suppose it would. It’s not a picture she would want to have seen.’
‘She thought she recognised the photographer, as someone who worked for the same newspaper as her husband.
‘Why was he photographing you?’
‘At first he said he wasn’t, and that it was the scene he was taking. I did wonder whether …’
‘What?’
‘No. I’ll say no more on that.’
‘That her husband was having her followed, or that the photographer may ask a high price for his wares?’
When he stayed silent, I asked, ‘Who put you in contact with Deirdre?’
His answer came out so quickly and so pat that I knew it to be false. ‘We met in a café and hit it off. She was a good sport.’
‘What café?’
‘Does that matter? It was a café, that’s all. I can’t tell you the name.’
‘Where was the café?’
‘Just a café. We met in a café.’
‘That’s what the solicitor told you to say?’
He repeated his answer, word for word.
‘Thank you.’ There would be little more to draw out of him. I stood up.
‘Wait!’ He touched my sleeve. He let out a sigh and
lowered his head. ‘If someone has hurt that lovely lady …’
This seemed an odd way to describe a ‘good sport’ he met in a café. ‘Mr Barnard, what can you tell me?’
‘It was her first time, and … Well I’m sure it was her first time.’
‘Do you mean her first time meeting a man in a café and going to a hotel with him?’
He hesitated. ‘I can’t divulge.’
I sat down again. ‘Mr Barnard, if you have any regard for Mrs Fitzpatrick, then please help me. I enjoyed
HMS Pinafore
, but I’ll probably be waiting in this station for the milk train, so have a heart, for Deirdre and for me.’
‘It was as I said, we met in a café and …’
‘Oh, spare me! She was with another man, in the same situation as you, and the outcome was rather unfortunate. And now I don’t know where she is.’
He had turned red and uncomfortable. He tugged at his collar. ‘What kind of husband does she have? What sort of man is he?’
‘It’s a little late for you to be asking that. You realise that your wife’s petition for divorce could be at risk?’
He hesitated, and then said, ‘Mrs Fitzpatrick, Deirdre, she needed the money. That was why she did what she did.’
‘You can rely on my discretion.’
Could he? I was not so sure, but he nodded. ‘I hope so.’ He did not look at me, but stared at his feet. He spoke quietly, but his actor’s voice allowed every word to come out so very clearly.
‘When I said it was her first time, I did not mean her first time meeting someone in a café. We agreed that
intimacy need not form part of our arrangement. What you do in a situation requiring a certain sort of proof is not as important as what you are seen to do. What is seen, what can be used as evidence, that is what counts. We agreed to sleep with a bolster between us, and then we didn’t; didn’t have the bolster I mean. We liked each other, very much. I wished I had met her years ago, and I believe she felt the same. The next morning …’
‘The next morning?’ I prompted.
‘There was blood on the sheets. She was very embarrassed and tried to wash it out. We had a wash basin in the room.’
‘She had her bleeding period?’
‘No. It wasn’t that. It was her first time.’
A silence held between us, and then he spoke again. ‘She was lively, and funny, and told me about her mother, and her brother in New York who she thought must have died or moved because he never answered her letters. And now I feel helpless, because to act in any way on her behalf … the solicitor stressed …’
‘The solicitor …?’
‘That’s as much as I can say.’
Barnard stood up, and offered his hand. ‘I hope you don’t have to wait too long for a train.’
‘If there’s anything else, you have my card.’
‘You might as well know. I thought the photographer might be working for the solicitor, a belt and braces idea of seeing us together on our way to the hotel, but I cannot be sure. Deirdre thought not.’
‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
It would have been a better night’s work if I had found out the name of the solicitor. But at least I had eliminated the slim possibility that Deirdre would be with Barnard. I gave him time to leave the station, and then went to the platform to study the timetable. I need not have worried about trains. One was due in ten minutes. But if I took a train to Leeds, then I would be abandoning my motor to its fate. Far better to take a tram to my parents’ house in Sandal, where I would be better placed to do something about the motor in the morning.
The tram stop was a short walk away. On an impulse, I decided just to look and see if there was a light on at the house in White Swan Yard, where my birth mother lives. Not that I believe in the power of dreams. I had only dreamed of a mother’s death because of Deirdre’s mother dying. But it would not hurt, just to see.
A gentle glow from the gas mantle formed a golden edge around the blind. I could hear whistling, tapping or stamping, and a child’s voice that I recognised: my niece, Harriet.
I peeped through a gap at the side of the blind. There was Mrs Whitaker, the mother whom I didn’t know what to call, playing a penny whistle. My parents adopted me from Mrs Whitaker when I was a few weeks old, and I am only just getting to know her. Harriet was clapping and singing. The hearth rug was rolled back. Little Austin wore clogs and stomped a dance.
The dog barked.
Hurriedly, I turned away. It was late. I wanted to knock, but I didn’t want to knock. If the children saw my face, I might break the mood and remind them of sadder
days, of the loss of their father.
But I was not quick enough. The dog’s bark alerted Harriet to someone at the door. She opened it as I was about to turn away, and her face lit up at the sight of me. ‘Auntie Kate! How did you know I was here?’
I smiled at her wonderful assumption. ‘Just a good guess, Harriet.’
She held open the door for me to step inside.
Austin had stopped dancing. He smiled, but not wanting to be seen smiling, looked at his feet.
Mrs Whitaker said, ‘Well you better sit down, our Catherine.’
I pulled out a buffet and sat by the table.
Harriet said, ‘Have you remembered it will be my birthday soon?’
‘I have.’
‘I’ll be eleven.’
‘I know they should be in bed,’ Mrs Whitaker said, as though I had criticized her, ‘but the bairns need a bit of enjoyment.’
‘Of course they do. I’ve just been to the theatre myself, to see Gilbert and Sullivan.’
Having called here, I had to stay for at least half an hour; half an hour of cups of tea, bread and dripping.
Harriet said, ‘Mam is going to come and stay with you while the banns are read for her and Uncle Bob to marry at Leeds Register office.’
Was she now? First I had heard of it. I tried not to look surprised. It was barely four months since my brother-in-law Ethan’s death. But Mary Jane is nothing if not full of surprises. She is my sister, but a sister I only met this year, brought up in this house, part of the Whitaker
family, of whom I know only Mary Jane, Harriet, Austin and Mrs Whitaker.
Harriet talked about the proposed move to Helmsley, where her mam and step-father would run the newsagent shop. The children had been taken to see the place. Harriet seemed to be looking forward to the move. Austin gave nothing away.
I felt glad that they were moving to somewhere new, for a fresh start after the loss of their father.
Austin was persuaded to do another dance. When he stopped and we applauded, he asked, ‘When we move to Helmsley, how will Dad know where to find us?’
Harriet said nothing. Neither did I. His grandmother said, ‘Your dad will be looking down from heaven. He’ll be that pleased to see you getting on right well.’
I waited downstairs with the dog, looking into the fire, while Mrs Whitaker took the children up to bed.
Shortly after she came down, I made a move. I explained about the Jowett. ‘I won’t go back to Leeds tonight. I’ll find a cab to take me out to Sandal.’
Mrs Whitaker is a practical woman. She straight away insisted that her neighbour down the yard would be happy to take me the three miles in his horse and cart.
She left me alone while she went out to ask him.
During the moments she was gone, I wondered how my life would have turned out if Mr Whitaker, a police constable, had not died suddenly while Mrs Whitaker was pregnant with me, and taking care of her already large family. It was hard to imagine a life other than the one I have lived.
Mrs Whitaker returned, all smiles. ‘Mr Cutler is
getting his boots on. Give him ten minutes to get his pony out of the stable and harnessed.’
‘Where is the stable?’
‘Down the yard here.’
Ten minutes.
We looked at each other.
She said, ‘You tell Mary Jane, if you don’t want her to stop. It’s not right she should be imposing. She hadn’t asked you, had she?’
‘No.’
‘Just like her. But she regards you as family, you see. Because you are. But you mustn’t feel obliged to us.’ She poked the fire. ‘Are you warm enough?’